


La Belle Dame sans Merci

by SonataForMyOverdosedLover



Series: And in her arms he'd kill the Maker, each time, a little more [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, a story depicted in moments, conversations on sexual themes, mention of characters from past games, the type you have around the campfire, unappropriated jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonataForMyOverdosedLover/pseuds/SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a way, he envied them. The time they spent together in battle; the high spirits they kept in spite of the uncertainties ahead of them. He had locked himself in the position he had been offered and hit his head against their restrictions. The scene in front of him proved how secluded he had become in time. It was hard to be any other way. He had few forces left and he had sworn to put everything into this fight. And yet he felt himself slip. His eyes were lost in the dance of the fire but it was the blurred outline of her figure that dragged him outside of his fortified walls. He knew he could disagree with her until the end of time and yet he was afraid he was letting himself be pulled into a vertigo that could crush him. It was reckless to approach something he could not understand but at the same time he was aware of how malignant the roots of her beliefs could be. He was overthinking it. He knew it; but he needed to turn these thoughts in his head until there was nothing left so his mind could settle again. On his own he could stand his ground; as barren and devoid as it was; but he felt his heart skip each time her presence would trace the cracks of his convictions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Belle Dame sans Merci

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of moments, words, gestures, glances and touches. It might have crossed Varric's mind to get some fresh inspiration for a new novel but truth being told they made no good story. In order to write a story you need a strong beginning, a happy middle, and a memorable ending. They couldn't agree on a beginning, there was no middle way for either of them, and they would not accept an end. Theirs was a story they would rather keep to their longing fingers and their craving mouths.

He left the chantry and let his legs carry his tired body across Haven. They were ready… they had to be! It was the last quiet night in Haven before the attack on the Breach. They could wait no longer. He was being optimistic about this; he knew the men he trained; they may not be exemplary but they were dedicated and they were at their best considering the short time they had. 

The night was quiet but he knew few were able to sleep behind the closed doors of the cabins or under the covers of their tents. He could relate. He was exhausted and yet sleep seemed an improbable option. 

There were few lights still burning in the village; the tavern knew no rest and there were a couple of campfires near the gates.

Through the silence a familiar laughter roared and reached his ears. He continued down the path and it was not hard to locate the qunari in the light of one of the fires right next to the tent belonging to Varric. In fact, there was quite a party gathered around, entertained by the storyteller. 

‘Bullshit! I call it bullshit! Arrows can’t do that!’ 

As he was getting closer their voices became clearer. He spotted the blonde elf on the small rocky fence, facing Varric across the fire. Next to her was one of the Chargers, the second in command. Iron Bull was sitting on the cold ground without a problem. He caught sight of the Tevinter mage standing as close to the fire as possible but his eyes stopped on the clear outline of the Herald’s body, her back fully turned to him. The long coat she was wearing was perfectly cupping her curves helped by the tight belt around her middle. 

“Well, you can choose to believe that or not. The dead won’t be able to tell his version of the story anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked away. But before he could continue to his own cabin his presence got noticed. 

“Ah look, if it isn’t _the good commander_. Out for a night stroll, are we?”

The voice of the mage stopped him. There was something in the way he addressed that made him feel uncomfortable. When a secretive laughter traveled around the campfire it only confirmed that his concerns were justified. He didn’t linger on those thoughts for long. In fact he found himself emptied of any thoughts as the woman turned and searched for him. When her eyes found his a devious smile adorned her lips but she nodded respectfully his way.

“Hey, Curly, come join us! We were actually talking about you just a while ago.”

He frowned when he looked at the dwarf but stepped down the stairs nonetheless and went closer to the group.

“One of your entertaining stories again, I should presume.”

“Entertaining? Yes; but wasn’t me this time. That would have made it very awkward. Want a fire starter? Look at your Herald and Sparkler for explanations.” 

And he looked up at the mage who in exchange glanced at the woman. To his left she let out a rich laughter and suddenly he didn’t care about the avoidance game any longer.

“You make it sound as if we said something bad.”

“I can assure you we only shared words of appreciation, Commander.”

“Shite! Does this mean fun’s over?”

Cullen felt instantly that the question was addressed to his presence there and had a second thought of leaving them.

“I hardly believe that I am responsible for the way in which you spend your time, Sera.”

“Good. Cause if you were here to tell us how we should focus on tomorrow I would have made sure you had a nasty morning.”

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and tried to remind himself that the elf was with the Inquisition on justified grounds. 

“Yes, because enjoying a night without sleep before you guys send me out like a sacrificial goat tomorrow is exactly how I want to spend what could possibly be my last hours.”

The woman stepped from her place and passed in front of him, stopping closer to his right. 

“Now, now, look who’s being dramatic.”

The Trevelyan let another relaxed laughter as she eyed the mage across the fire.

“Said the pot to the kettle”.

“If I have to be a pot I have to tell you that I am marvelously engraved and made of the finest porcelain.” 

When she continued her laughter he came to realize he had never seen her like this. She was nothing like the rigid, grave and focused woman at the war table or the cynic presence around the people from the Chantry. And those present around the fire did not seem to find her attitude strange; he knew there were animosities between most of them but somehow at that moment they were all disregarded. That alone made him wonder what sort of person she was outside of Haven; on the road, during the nights they had to camp in the wilds or the days they spent in remote villages around the Hinterlands. 

The woman turned to him, extending her wooden mug.

“Wine, Commander?”

He eyed the offering.

“No, thank you.”

She mimicked a frown.

“You don’t drink?”

“I do. But I am looking forward to some sleep.”

“Ah, but a glass of good wine always helps with sleep.”

He huffed in his chin and felt the tension leaving his shoulders slowly.

“A good wine, yes. But here we lack both the wine and a glass.”

Her full lips turned into a small ‘o’ and laughter escaped them again.

“A fair point.” She brought the mug up in a salute. “Though I fear that my mouth has already been tainted with this bad taste. No point going back now.”

His head picked only specific words from her sentence and rolled them into the back of his mind. The alcohol put her in a good humour and yet he stared to feel intoxicated as well. 

“Well, look at you two being picky. Stop drinking! More for us.”

They both turned at the elf and then shared an amused glance. 

“Bull, you owe me a story!” She picked the talk as she filled her own mug with alcohol. 

“Not about the qunari women again, Sera.” The warrior rolled his eyes but there was humour in his voice. “Yes, they are big, and yes, they can do stuff to you. Especially if you’re as tiny and fragile as yourself.”

“He, he… what sort of things?”

“There’s no marriage among your kind, is there?” the Tevinter mage was careful with his words but still genuinely curious.

“Yeah, that’s true. Qunari love our friends like anyone does, but we don’t have sex with them.”

“I know someone who’d call that a potentially wasted friendship.” Varric let out through his grin.

But what made him stop from swallowing was the woman to his right incredulously voicing her amused question.

“Qunari don’t have sex?”

The bolstered laughter rang again though the village.

“Oh, we definitely have sex. There are Tamassrans who pop your cork whenever you need it.”

The more this conversation was developing the more Cullen wished he had not stayed at Varric’s insistence. 

The Trevelyan burst into a generous fit of laughter. 

“Seriously?!!”

“Yeah” the man growled satisfied. “ – it’s not a big deal like it is here. It’s like, I don’t know – going to see a healer. Sometimes it’s this long, involving things that takes all day and leaves you walking funny. Other times you’re in and out in five minutes.” He clicked his tongue twice against his teeth; “Thank you. See you next week.” 

The woman eyed the qunari with big eyes and a wide grin on her mouth but was not able to word her thoughts.

“… that sounds like good medicine.” He heard Sera approve from her spot.

The mage laughed. “Not if you have to face an army of demons any time after.” 

“It’s good to let out tension. Also does wonders to the moral.”

“Or is an easy way to get you killed, chief. Think of it… you’re more relaxed, less focused, open window for attacks.”

He watched in horror as the group was seriously discussing the effects of sexual intercourse before a fight. He was at least grateful that the woman next to him was not taking part in this. She had a serious expression on her face, her eyes slightly narrowing to the trail of her thoughts. He decided that looking at her features was currently safer than getting caught in the conversation. 

That’s when she cleared her throat. 

“Wait…” She looked back at Bull. “So what you’re saying is… you’ve never really made love? Connected with someone in both body and soul?”

The qunari stared at her, ready to say something but realizing that he didn’t really know what. 

“O, ho, ho. I never pegged you as the romantic type, _Chocolate_.”

The woman did not even look at Varric when she answered, finger pointing at him with the same hand she was holding her mug.

“I will pretend I did not hear what you just called me, Varric – and this has nothing to do with being romantic.” Her head turned to the dwarf. “I am talking about the difference between making love to someone so that you can feel them as if they are part of you and banging bodies against each other like animals only to make weird flopping noises!” 

He felt the blood rising to his face and he swore his ears were stinging at her words. 

“Crackers and tits!! She said – pffff – floppin’ ”

“Oh grow up, Sera!” but she was having a hard time not laughing as well. “There is a huge gap between the two. I am not talking about romantic feelings; I am talking about sensuality and passion; about giving and taking. When you touch you can express what a million words can’t and you can make your lover feel your intentions to their bones. It’s one of the best feelings this life gives you – why waste it? If there’s anything that makes you feel as powerful as those gods you pray to, this is it. You’ll know you are doing it right when you’ll feel a world explode inside of you and your senses will go numb in bliss.” 

There was a silence that followed her ardent argument but she was smiling, content with her display. Cullen found himself thinking back at all the occasions he’d been this close to someone and unwillingly ended up judging his experiences based on her words. He cursed the sheer curiosity that the woman was stirring in him.

In that silence Bull finally seemed to find a comeback. 

“Huh… I don’t know. One time they used this thing, like a leather-wrapped rod on a harness. That wasn’t really my soul, though. Also there were more than two people.”

After the words sank in for everyone they were left staring in confusion at the man. That’s when the Trevelyan broke the mood with her powerful laughter, shoulders shaking and back bent to hide her features. Finally she looked up at the dark sky and sighed her laughter away.

“Ah Bull, you are a gift for gloomy days.”

Her deep voice was soothing, an effect he never thought someone who was cold and calculated most of the time could have. 

“That sounded unnecessarily hot.” Came a comment from across the fire. 

The Trevelyan laughed again but drowned it in her mug. 

“Mmm, that thing that you mentioned.” She turned her attention back to Bull, waving the arm with which she as gripping the mug towards her point of interest. “It’s not that uncommon even here, actually. You strap it around your waist.” She shook her head in amusement. “What is it that you call it? _Saartoh Nehrappan_ … in your language?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing.” He nodded and then frowned. “Wait… how do you know that?”

Her grin was only visible for as long as the mug was not covering it.

“I said that I make love, not sex; that doesn’t mean that I do not enjoy a variety of techniques.”

Whatever images she was implanting in their heads he was thankful to the qunari for testing their ears with his thundering laughter. 

“I mean with respect when I say that for a human you are surprisingly creepy… in a very arousing way. You sure you should spit all those profanities as the Herald?”

She laughed. He would forgive all the inappropriate comments if only he’d get more time to study her careless laughter.

“What are you talking about?” She concluded with a charming grin. “Love is not a profanity.” 

“Tntz!” The mage sought her eyes from across the fire and there it was - a glance that communicated past their words, a habit most common to the two. “But it can be a sin.”

The amber colour in her eyes intensified as she kept her eyes on him. 

“No, love can be a lot of things; can be destructive, consuming, sure; it can even be unhealthy… but it can never be wrong.”

“I can see why not being an Andrastian makes you sleep better at night.”

“Don’t get jealous, Varric. I have other things to keep me awake at night.” She stopped. “On second thought – depends on your tastes.”

“Man… I don’t want to die before _meeting_ a qunari woman. We better not die tomorrow, yes?”

Bull let another long and by now tired growl at Sera. She was never going to drop the subject. 

“Be careful what you wish for.” The man took a long drink. “Donno, I am not picky. Race, gender, county - means nothing. It’s the people themselves that matter.”

“I’d say there are differences, like to acknowledge them or not.”

“Yeah, ok – I have a soft spot for redheads.”

“We know.” A small chorus reacted.

“Varric is pretty secretive. Always listens to our stories in camp but doesn’t share any of his.” 

“Pff as if there is any secret. He’s probably only interested in that crossbow. Maybe one day you’ll end up marrying it.”

There was laughter and Varric joined in with a chuckle. But the rapid gesture of hiding behind the mug did not escape Cullen. He was not surprised when the woman reacted. He knew few things about her but her sharp spirit of observation was something he respected.

She cut their interest in the dwarf like she was using a knife.

“I don’t know; I myself always appreciated an Antivan lover.”

“Of cooooourse you dooo…” the elf laughed in an accusing voice. The attention the woman was paying to Ambassador Montilyet was no secret to anyone it seemed.

But the Trevelyan simply rolled her eyes.

“That’s not what I meant. Antivans are passionate and they always pay attention to details. Mmmh, I know a certain someone who is very, very good with his hands.” She paused from her thoughtful expression just to frown a bit “except when it comes to his job. Also he talks too much.” and the grin was back again “but that usually gets fixed pretty quickly. Haven’t seen him in years; I hope he hasn’t managed to get himself killed yet.” 

He watched her laugh silently at a memory and he wondered how the woman could enjoy this type of life. It was out of curiosity rather than judgment. He had learnt that the way people led their private life bore no relevance to the sort of person they were. In truth he could admit that he found her capricious attitude upsetting. It could be selfish on his part but he would have felt more at peace if the herald was someone more considerate of the implications of her title. 

“Ok, so who’s with me when I say ‘nay’ to Orlesians?”

Everyone laughed at the resolution that the elf brought to the discussion. 

“Wha’? They’re picky and moody. When you think you have it she goes ‘eeeh - maybe not’. And they are so sensitive! Have you heard them scream? ‘Cause when they come the entire household knows it.”

The people around the fire shared different sorts of amusement at the bluntness of her answer. 

“Oh they can reach quite the high notes. I find it delightful.” 

He looked at Dorian, having a feeling that this conversation was far from ending anytime soon. But in a way, he envied them. The time they spent together in battle; the high spirits they kept in spite of the uncertainties ahead of them. He had locked himself in the position he had been offered and hit his head against their restrictions. The scene in front of him proved how secluded he had become in time. It was hard to be any other way. He had few forces left and he had sworn to put everything into this fight. And yet he felt himself slip. His eyes were lost in the dance of the fire but it was the blurred outline of her figure that dragged him outside of his fortified walls. He knew he could disagree with her until the end of time and yet he was afraid he was letting himself be pulled into a vertigo that could crush him. It was reckless to approach something he could not understand but at the same time he was aware of how malignant the roots of her beliefs could be. He was overthinking it. He knew it; but he needed to turn these thoughts in his head until there was nothing left so his mind could settle again. On his own he could stand his ground; as barren and devoid as it was; but he felt his heart skip each time her presence would trace the cracks of his convictions.

“Say what you want, but I am fine where I am now. If I see myself with someone they would probably be from here. Ferelden people are honest; they don’t like to complicate things and are sincere with what they want. You can easily read them and I like that they are not scared of being simply who they are. That’s what I want from the person I am with.” 

There was a short silence and no one dared speak after Bull’s Charger voiced his opinion.

“Well shit… you just made us all look like a bunch of shallow assholes.” 

The woman glanced at Varric to acknowledge his words then she got ready to empty her mug. 

“Krem, that’s sweet and I would completely agree with you if not for the fact that they are also excruciatingly prudish and so narrow when it comes to making love. It’s like they have a stick up their asses and it would break if you asked them to try anything else other than making babies.” 

Everything went quiet around the fire; by the Maker, he refused to look away from the ground but he felt their eyes on him as he felt the dead silence weighting on his head. 

He cleared his throat and from the corner of his eyes he saw how realization gripped the woman; her body suddenly tensed; her jaw clenched and the mug was frozen upon her lips. Those present were shifting their positions in silence and he heard the elf’s failed attempt to suppress a snicker. 

Her eyes darted to him and slowly she was bringing her arm down. 

“I…. did not…” she stopped “wish to bring any offence. I mean I wouldn’t know, but” and she stopped again. He could not look up and meet her eyes. “I meant no offence.” She spit it out in one controlled breath. 

He let his left hand shelter him from the looks as he pressed his fingers across his eyebrows. The scene was horrifying but there he was, finding himself only mildly uncomfortable and having a hard time holding in a laugh. When he though that he had made the woman wait enough for a reaction he turned his head slightly to her but could not hide a simper at her conflicted expression. 

“None taken.” What was he supposed to say? He should have felt embarrassed more than offended but he could not relate to any of those in particular. The way she was looking his way indulged him and for the sake of not furthering the topic he tried his best not to show his amusement. It was not as if he could change her opinions and as soon as that thought crossed his mind he immediately regretted it, for the very first time panicking at their predicament. 

She slowly turned and looked at nothing in particular ahead of her. There was still silence around the fire but this time no one bothered to hide their grins. 

“Right. I think I can actually taste the dirt from my boot.”

“I’d say it was worth it.” Varric snorted. “It’s not every day we get to watch you put your foot in your mouth.” But he did act on kindness when he decided to distance the discussion from that awkward moment. Unfortunately, he happened to completely disagree with the dwarf’s choice. “So, Cullen, what do you have to say on the matter? You traveled a bit yourself. Developed any preferences in particular?”

“Oh no; you won’t drag me into this, Varric.”

The man laughed.

“Come on; loose some knots there; you don’t want to let _Chocolate_ here get away with murder. People will start thinking she’s right.”

“Varric.” His jaw clenched. How was he going to get himself out of this with his dignity intact? “Drop. It.”

He watched the dwarf prepare for another set of attacks but he was not fast enough.

“I’d rather skip the rest of the conversation.” The Trevelyan noble left her place to drop the mug on a nearby stump. “While this was entertaining I have a big green hole in the sky to deal with tomorrow.”

“That’s a mood killer.” Bull uttered in his chin.

He watched the woman straighten and step away from the fire.

“Let’s make sure that the mood is the only thing that dies as of this night.” 

“Heh… you’re less fun when you get all bossy.” 

“Naturally.” She dismissed the comment but grinned. 

She went past him but stopped and turned his way.

“Commander, will you walk with me? There are some things I’d like to discuss about tomorrow’s plans.”

“Of course.”

With a last acknowledging nod towards the group, he found himself agreeing instantly, grateful for the escape window she was offering. He knew on spot that it was not a coincidence as he caught the long glance she threw past his shoulder at Varric.  
When he reached her she extended her arm.

“May I?”

He knew what her gesture meant and gladly offered his arm, allowing hers to lock around it, both hands rested on his gauntlet. He could in fact, get used to this. 

They walked in silence for a while. He felt her guiding them towards her cabin. 

“I apologize for my earlier behavior.” Her low voice was softer now. “I had completely forgotten you were born in Ferelden; otherwise I would have not been so needlessly acid.”

This time his huffed laughter escaped before he could do anything about it. He felt her smile.

“I guess I deserve that.” 

“Actually I was not laughing at you. I just find myself amused at how impossible it is for you to express an honest apology.”

Attached to his arm, she tensed.

“Excuse me?” 

“What you practically admitted is that, had I not been present there, you would have had no problem in saying those things.”

“Well… yes… I mean … I was just venting some personal frustrations. I should know better than to act on it.”

His smile only turned wider and it was enough to make her read through it. She really did not know the meaning of an apology. 

“Never mind.”

“Ferelden have indeed the tendency of relying more on actions than being open to debates. In that aspect I can understand where you’re coming from.”

“I said never mind.”

He chuckled. 

“Was there something that you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, you mean something else besides saving you out of that corner Varric was pushing you in front of everyone?”

He looked into the distance, at the torches barely keeping the village alive in the night and felt his smile linger a while longer. 

“I guess I deserve that.” He mimicked the words she had uttered earlier.

The woman showed her pearly teeth and he stole a glance at her sincere expression, knowing it was not something that happened too often. 

It was gone rather fast as he had predicted and replaced by a serious look.

“There is in fact something that I wanted to ask of you.”

He nodded and waited for her to continue. But no words were exchanged as she allowed them to walk in complete silence. He wanted to know what was eating at her thoughts but he didn’t want to ask. Until she’d name it, he’d revel in their quiet, sluggish amble. 

She chose to stop in the sheltered space between her cabin and the wooden fence. There was little light reaching them. That’s when she unlocked their arms and faced him. 

“We’re bringing the mages extremely close to the Breach tomorrow. I will do my part, Commander but what will come after – I can’t know for sure. If things get out of control I want your men ready to interfere immediately and by any means.”

He felt his jaw clench. He knew where this was going and he did not like it.

“It would have been easier if we had the mages conscripted.” Their secluded spot and the whispers they had been exchanging made him feel as if this was meant to be private. 

“I thought this conversation was over. I am not taking anyone’s freedom based on what they might or might not do. They have the right to a chance to prove they are capable of freedom.”

“And you would prefer watching them become possessed and end their lives instead of avoiding a disaster?” He felt his blood boil again as he was slowly remembering why they had a hard time getting along. 

“I am not going to punish everyone for someone else’s mistake. They are either weak and give in, or fight for it.”

He couldn’t say if he just stepped closer to her but he knew he could feel the warmth of her body in the cold air of the valley.

“It’s easy for you to talk. You and I have no idea what they have to go through. I’ve seen mages in the circle and for few of them magic seemed like a gift. It’s one fight more that most of them have to face and more than once I saw their lives being saved by rules.”

“Everyone has their demons to fight.” Her low voice sent chills down his spine. Why bother? Nothing would change by arguing about a decision that had long been taken. He needed to stop offering her entrances under his skin and focus on what he needed to do ahead.

“I will have the soldiers on guard.”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am not asking you as commander of the Inquisition’s forces. I am asking you to act as a Templar. If you even suspect that one of the mages will go rampa-"

“I am not a Templar anymore.” He cut her without hesitation. 

“You may not wear the armor anymore, but that doesn’t change anything. What you learnt and what you did doesn’t rub off your skin like clothes.” There was a low hiss and she sensed the change in her own voice. The muscles of her face relaxed and he ended up pinned down by her vibrant eyes. “It would be easy to erase our deeds like that, but it’s not an option. I respect your desire for a change and I can only admire the fact that you managed to wake up even after so many years; but you take what you’ve done and live with it. That’s how it works, commander.” Her words were heavy but her voice showed that she meant no harm by them. She looked away and he almost gripped her chin to restrict the woman to facing him. “I know it’s cruel to ask this of you. We all want to walk away from something at one point. But you’ve been there; you’ve witnessed two disasters and things are as they are. You will need to use your judgment in light of what you know and what you’ve seen. There’s no one else here who can do that.”

From the corner of her eyes she was searching for a resolution. 

He hated her. In that moment he hated the woman in front of him. He knew it would all be washed away after a while but he needed to let himself feel that way. It was a justified request but it was something they could have avoided. It was her decision to have the mages free and now she was turning him into their judge, should they become possessed. He could not hold it against her. She had not been there; but she did not know mercy.

“Say something.”

He froze. The voice was as collected as always but the plead in the tone shocked him. 

“I’ll see that the Templars we have among our men are prepared for anything.” He was done keeping his thoughts to himself. “I will not forget how you forced me into this.”

At that she finally had the courage to look straight into his eyes again.

“I am counting on that.” In that silence she stared shamelessly at him as if she could rip past his expression, into his head. “Has anyone ever taken your kindness for weakness?”

“What?” She was leading him into a storm and each time he thought he could get the winds right, she’d create more currents. He was on the verge of giving up or forcing himself into the core and he couldn’t say which one would be more damaging. 

“For what it’s worth commander, I’ve seen more powerful people crash under less pressure. Most of them either became nothing or turned into monsters. I’ve seen no one able to still grasp at their kindness when they stare into the eyes of those they hold responsible … I think that requires a lot of strength.”

Her eyes lingered on the collar of his armor. With that she stepped back, giving way to the brittle air. Again and again; he’d find himself clothed in her warmth enough to make him detest the cold that usually was his only blessing between headaches and restless nights. 

He was still furious for the way she had led him, but his body would not listen and his anger was being tamed back into a cage by the sincerity of her confession. He could not map her no matter how much he tried; the woman and her thoughts, her gestures and raw words; she was cruel and would cut as a well-sharpened blade and she was carnal in the way she laughed and moved. Suddenly he found himself wondering what was going to happen once the sun would be up again. Was she prepared? Did she feel the pressure on her shoulders? Was she scared? Did the woman resent all of them for pushing her ahead? He never asked if the mark hurt; if she hated it or if she was comfortable with it. Had anyone asked her any of these questions? Or were they all too afraid?

“I pray to the Maker that tomorrow will bring an end to this madness.” He felt his jaw tense and he cursed himself. This was not what he wanted to say. 

That was the final act before she started to make her way towards the door of her cabin. 

“Do as you wish, Commander; but tomorrow it won’t be your Maker closing the Breach.” 

He let out a short, breezed laugh. Why did she have to be difficult? Why was he even bothering with trying to show support? 

“Have a good rest.”

“As well.”

The woman didn’t even turn she answered. He stood still until he heard the click of the door as it closed. 

When there was silence he made his way to his own cabin in Haven, as he had intended earlier that night. He didn’t focus on anything; his mind void of any sort of thoughts. He tried not to think of anything in particular and he found it surprisingly easy to do so. He entered the poor shelter he was occupying, greeted by its vacancy. There was a bed, a desk with a chair and a couple of old shelves that he used to keep reports and a couple of books. He did not mind the empty space. The room was dark and cold; he was not spending much time inside, besides the moments in which he would retreat for a rest and he never bothered to clean the ashes from the last time he had used the fireplace. In complete darkness he started to take off his pauldron and armplates. The metal hit the wooden surface of the desk and it was soon followed by the rest of the armor until his tunic was loose, allowing the cold air to slip to his skin. 

He stepped near the window and pushed the shutter ajar, letting in the chilling draft of the night. He had grown used to it; the cold was numbing the headaches and keeping his body aware, away from the deep sleep that plagued his mind. Returning to his bed he let his heavy body down on the edge. The thought of tomorrow was threatening to catch his attention again. Back bent forward he gripped his arms and cracked his wrists. His neck followed. When his mind was invaded by flashes of the red streets of Kirkwall he tensed his shoulders with more power. He felt the sharp shiver in his right hand and fisted his fingers deep into his palm. He took a short breath and refused to open his eyes. Kirkwall was across the sea, far from Haven; he thought of the Templars he had left behind, the rubbles of the City of Chains; he trained his thoughts back to the room he had in the city; the sound of the sea hitting the tall walls at the Docks; the lulling incense inside the chantry. He lowered his body backwards on the rigid mattress of the bed. He thought of the salty smell of mornings inside the courtyard and the rich colors of market days in Hightown. The second he’d refuse to remember this ritual of senses, disemboweled corpses would lay at the corner of the streets and pleading wails would echo from his memories against the walls of his conscience. He would play these images for as long as he needed, until his mind would tire. For each dark corner of his recollections he needed to place a softer memory. He kept repeating them until he found himself slowly drifting. He remembered the smell of books in the library of the Chantry and he missed the late evenings spent there, in the light of candles. He remembered the busy days in the market when vendors from outside the city still dared to dock and sell their merchandise in Kirkwall. He remembered Mariana, with her fiery hair and green eyes; he remembered her dedication to the Order and her blushing cheeks when she talked to him. Vaguely he remembered her short figure as she offered a box of chocolates in the white market. She had gotten them from a merchant from Starkhaven. He tried to remember the taste of the dark chocolate and he wished he hadn’t forgotten them on the stairs of the Chantry. If only he could just grab them now. His mind was barely following. How peculiar that he thought of that. He didn’t even like chocolate…


End file.
